


Rumbelle One Shots

by Ladylauralue



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:27:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 11,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5830870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladylauralue/pseuds/Ladylauralue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what it says on the tin, to be updated as needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Belle makes it back to The Dark Castle, Rumpelstiltskin approves of her new look.

It was cold, snow falling all around, chill wind making the flurries dance to an unheard tune. Belle could almost see the puffs of her warm breath, but it was hard to make out against all the white. She was so bone achingly cold. And tired. So tired, she didn’t know how she could make it to the castle nestled in the mountains. She had to find the strength to make it, she just had to. How much farther was it now? She had been climbing up for so long. And before that, running, so much running.

A tree root, or a rock, felled her mid-step and she crashed into the snow. Her cape fluttered around her, and she thought longingly of her skirts and petticoats, abandoned in her fear and haste. Perhaps the layers could have kept her warm, where her breeches did not. When she felt the snow around her melting against her she struggled up to kneel in the snow. She wrapped her cape around her, tucking her head under the cloth to try and breath heat to warm herself. It was hardly noticeable, and she could feel something melting into her boots, _again_.

Steeling herself, Belle rose again, what little strength her arms had was used to simply keep the thick cloth wrapped around her. The strength of her legs had waned, only mindless determination kept them going now. She trudged, slowly up another hill, this one not so daunting as the last. Somewhere in her chest she felt hysteria rising at the hopelessness of her trek. She wasted no strength trying to fight it off, only waited for it to surface. Her breathing got shallower, hitching with each step, her pulse racing with more than exertion. Just a few steps more, and if she could find strength she’d make a fire, or fall asleep and most likely never wake.

She crested the hill and looked down, her breath catching in her throat. Stark against the pristine white was a long unseen sight: The Dark One’s Castle. Unthinkingly her feet picked up their pace, the sobbing laugh of hysteria let itself loose as she ran towards the road that lead to the formidable estate. Her blood surged in her ears as a long awaited second wind born on excitement and anticipation gave her strength. Tears may have fallen, she did not know as her feet found their way over the cobble stone bridge and before the large doors that lead to the front hall. They did not open for her and she couldn’t slow herself in time, but stumbled hard into the doors. She grasped with numb fingers at the rings, fearing she would not be able to stand if she fell. She grasped the door’s handle and leaned back, unable to pull with her arms. The doors opened as though feather-light, something she could scarcely believe, until she staggered into the hall and saw the dark, lithe form of Rumpelstiltskin approaching the doors.

She swayed on weary, well-traveled legs as his steps halted, wonder and confusion warring on his face. When he reached out to her, she tried to step closer, but her strength finally failed her, and she fell to her knees, hard. She cried out, but weariness overtook her and she finally gave in to her exhaustion. The last thing she remembered, or perhaps the first thing she dreamed, was of his arms around her, and of warmth and safety.

\----*--@

The weight in his arms belied the suspicion, the belief that he was imagining things. Belle was here, but Rumpelstiltskin was choked with disbelief. His hands gripped limbs where he could, one on her arm, the other on her leg. She was solid, breathing but barely, and so very cold. His Belle had never looked so pale, her hair lush and dark, not stiff and stringy. Apparition or not, dreaming or awake, he was compelled to see to the comforts of this girl who looked so like and yet unlike his Belle. He stepped forward, and between one foot rising and falling he was before the fireplace of his main hall. Already cackling was a roaring fire, warming the hearthstones he knelt down on. He rested her lower body on the hearth, but kept his arms around her shoulders.

He tried to say her name, but his breath was shaking too hard. He couldn’t move his arms from around her, half afraid she’d disappear like the vision he thought her, and half unable to from his own shaking. He pressed his lips to her temple, trying to breathe in her scent but the cold… the death like chill that enveloped her made it nearly impossible. He focused on the slow, shallow rise and fall of her chest, the only guarantee that the apparition in his arms was alive. Hesitantly he tried using a little magic to try her clothes, willing the price to be on his shoulders. He didn’t want to risk more than that, for fear that the full price would be on her. Dark purple smoke snaked over her body, and he was relieved to see the damp recede from the leathers she wore. He removed the arm over her torso, reaching up to run his fingers through her hair, giving a little heat to his magic and was relieved when he saw steam float from her tresses. He felt her face and neck, feeling the cold giving way to some warmth under his ministrations. Her breathing deepened and she finally moved herself. It was slight, just a subtle shift of her legs, but Rumpelstiltskin released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She would live. She must.

\----*--@

Belle had fallen into darkness in the cold embrace of winter snow and stone, but came awake in light and a blazing heat. She was laid out, uncomfortably so, on stone and something she couldn’t understand as she turned away from the warmth. She felt cloth, warm, rich fabric and heard a steady heartbeat in her ear. She remembered a long journey in snow and ice, over mountains and a great dark castle. She wanted to be in that unwelcoming place more than life, and she remembered laughing and crying and running down a hill until she reached the gates. A monster greeting her silently, but he was not a real monster, not where it mattered. The heartbeat in her ear almost lulled her back into the darkness, but she wanted to know what had happened to the cold. Why wasn’t she cold anymore? She turned her head, slightly and breathed deep, catching the scent of wild things untamable, and darkness, and straw. She smiled, knowing she was in a dream. It happened, she’d heard. When people froze, they became sluggish, tired, and believed themselves to be warm, when they were dying. So, this was to be her death, warmth and the smell and feel of her Love. She lay for a few moments, basking in the simple feel of deaths grip, before trying to open her eyes. She would see the snow fall one last time, and be happy.

Slowly she struggled to pull out of the haze she drifted in, her surroundings cloudy until she blinked it away. There was no snow, nor trees, no sky or mountains. She saw in their place a dark face, glittering in the glow of a fire she could now hear, but did not turn to see. Eyes, large and worried looked into hers and she smiled. “Rumpelstiltskin. I’m glad it’s you I’ll dream of,” she mumbled, her voice husky with fatigue, “Before I die.”

She was jarred by the arms around her pulling her close, tightening around her in an embrace. A muffled gasping sound reached her ears through her still foggy state. This wasn’t what she wanted to dream. She wanted to laugh as she had with him, close companionship as before. She could see a high stone ceiling, and drapes shut to the outside world. She didn’t want to dream of darkness… she wanted her last thoughts to be of light and love.

“You aren’t dying” she heard him whisper. “Not here, not now.” Rumpelstiltskin muttered into her shoulder. His voice sounded different, not so high pitched and sinister, but not a man’s tone either.

Belle tried to pull away, push against him, but she had no strength, only a sore, heavy tiredness lingering in her limbs. She wanted to see him, wanted to relish the dream before meeting what came after. “Hush, let me enjoy your company one last time.” She tried to sit up, but was halted by the figure over her, though he was rising up from his place at her shoulder, Rumpelstiltskin still held her firmly in his arms. She wanted to sit up, and she frowned at him, as though he was solely responsible for her inability to do so. “Let me up Rumpelstiltskin. Please.”

His strong arms pulled her up, her legs sprawled unseemly before her and she looked around again, able to see more this time. He shifted his hold about her and, cradling her in his arms again, carried her to a chair which he gently laid her in. He knelt at her side, touching her gently and briefly; tucking her hair behind her ear, smoothing the folds of her sleeves and gloves, brushing nothing off her shoulders. She slumped backwards into the chair, her head lolling to the side. She looked around again, puzzled at her own state, and her surroundings. She couldn’t tell how many moments passed while she took everything in, but as Rumpelstiltskin’s hands fluttered around her, briefly settling on her wrist, she managed to throw her strength into trapping it there and she turned her scrutiny towards him. “I’m back?”

Rumpelstiltskin had frozen at her jerky, sudden movements. He looked at her now, no longer avoiding truly looking but met her dazed blue eyes with his strange green, brown ones. When he didn’t speak, Belle filled the silence. “I’m glad to be back.”

Rumpelstiltskin lunged towards her and wrapped his strong arms around her weak body, holding her as tight as he could, as tight as he dared to him. She could hear the sound of his voice, but couldn’t begin to understand him. She leaned her head down, resting on his shoulder, taking solace in his strength where she had none, his warmth where she’d only recently gotten her own back. She couldn’t take everything else in, so she focused what she was able to; _him_.

\----*--@

If he’d been able to, Rumpelstiltskin would tuck himself inside Belle and never, ever leave. Here, in his castle, his fortress, she held sway over him. She had for so long, even in her absence, and she would continue to. He breathed her in, the familiar smell of roses in her skin gone, replaced by something wilder, pine and other fresh green things, and leather, but underneath it he could still smell _her_. What had she been thinking, traversing the wilderness surrounding his stronghold? He loosened his grip, breathed deep and slid his arms up to her shoulders, caressing her with his thumbs as he leaned away. He only believed his eyes because every other sense told him she was there.

When she spoke – of course she’d speak first, she would make the first moves, always the brave one – he watched her lips, fascinated by the smooth, fluid movement and by her charming inflection. With half his mind he drank in everything, and with the other half he kept rapt attention to her every word. She spoke of adventures; of helping a dwarf understand the advances of his fairy love, of saving a prince in distress, of meeting new people, exciting people. When she spoke of kidnapping and escape he snarled softly, regretting it instantly when it meant that Belle stopped talking. She pacified his anger with soothing sounds and light pats on his arm where she could manage it. She yawned and sighed, her eyelids drooping with the soft exhaustion left after her joy at being at the castle again. Again, Rumpelstiltskin picked her up, whisking her away with a rolling cloud of dark purple smoke.

He carried her to his own chamber, rarely used but still serviceable. He had no untoward plans for her, he only needed her close by, reassuring him this was no dream. At a thought another fire roared in his fireplace and he lay Belle down atop the bed cloths. He held one hand in two of his, watchful of her as she continued talking, her voice low with mumbling fatigue, but he made no sign of trying to hush her. He let his thoughts drift to admiration. Belle had left him and returned changed. There was a tempered aspect to her resoluteness, a bolder sense of self in the way she’d carried herself for the half a minute he’d seen her. She wore leather breeches and bodice, no longer the soft, serviceable cloth dress she’d left in. Her boots were heavy and meant for journeying; he remembered the dainty shoes she’d worn around his castle, fitting for a princess-turned-servant, but not for adventuring. The admiration slid to distraction as Belle slipped into restful sleep. He rubbed her knuckles for want of solid contact as he watched over her slumber. A dragon in appearance and purpose, guarding his great and untold treasure.


	2. In which the Saviors Son woos the Mad Hatter's Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle asks Rumple's help in setting up the perfect Valentine's date for Henry and Grace

“Please, Rumpel?”

“No.”

Dust motes swirled around lazily in the afternoon sunshine, settling down amongst the well ordered books only to be swept up again by an errant gesture or pacing. At the main desk, perched unprofessionally on the surface was the librarian, ankles crossed and holding her balance. Before her, casually reclining in her swivel chair was her husband, the pawnbroker and occasional town menace.

“Why ever not?”

“I don’t cater to the whims or fancies of children.”

They had wrapped up their lunch date only a few minutes more, and were enjoying their last few moments of companionable peace until retiring for the evening at their house. Belle had overheard Henry’s wish to do something special for his crush, and on hearing the boy bemoan his lack of confidence, means and appeal, had almost immediately set on her husband to help the boy win the affections of his lady fair. Her husband had so far, steadfastly refused.

“Rumpelstiltskin, Henry is a sweet, generous and all around darling boy. He’s sincere in his affections and wants no grand display, just something a little special”

“What would you have me do?”

It wasn’t an acquiescence, but it could be the start of one. Belle immediately divulged her ideas to Rumpelstiltskin, ignoring his superficial scoffs. As she got more excited about her idea, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t help but catch her excitement, though he was better about hiding it. One of the many things he loved about his wife was her passion. She couldn’t do things by halves it seemed. And so, between the two of them, it was decided that they would help the Savior’s Son arrange a Valentine’s Day date with the Mad Hatter’s daughter.

“Well, now that it’s all settled—”

“Not in the slightest, Belle. We still need her father’s approval.”

“I already got it.”

\-------*---@

The roses were the trickiest part, Rumpelstiltskin found. The library had been vacated an hour early, and with the overzealous help of Jefferson, they had decorated a small reading corner to resemble a cross between the inside of a gypsy’s caravan and a Parisian shop. Jefferson had donated several cravats and sashes to the cause, his love for flair enough to rival the former Dark One in his heyday. Pillows transformed the hard carpet into a sultan’s throne room, the plush extravagance garish when compared to the rest of the library. Tables and chairs had been cleared away, small silver dishes the only available flat surfaces, on which rested choice books, chocolate bars and even a small silver chocolate pot with dainty cups. Jefferson had tried insisting on his own tea set being used, but Belle had wisely pointed out that it would clash with the décor. Jefferson pouted, but half-heartedly, allowing himself to become distracted with straightening up a few pillows and pulling on scarves to pull together the desired effect.

Rumpelstiltskin’s finishing touch was the rose petals continuously raining from the ceiling. While every other arrangement helped add to the mysterious allure of the library get away, it was the roses, dubbed by Rumpelstiltskin to be the necessary “memorable detail”, which made it breath taking. Belle had hoped for red roses, to match some of the pillows and scarves, but Jefferson flat out refused. Rumpelstiltskin instead chose cream, yellow and pink petals, with which Jefferson and Belle agreed would do. He perfected the charm with five minutes to spare, allowing him, Belle and Jefferson to conceal themselves, and for Belle to have and overcome a fit of giggles. Both men nearly gave in to the temptation to hold their hands over her mouth when the door to the library opened and Belle forced herself into silence.

Shy, sweet Henry was leading Grace by the hand towards the decorated nook, both stopping in their tracks when they saw the petals drifting. Grace gasped and pulled Henry back towards her, giving him the hardest hug she was able to before finally releasing him with a small, quick kiss on his cheek. When he didn’t move from his spot, she tugged on his hand and pulled him into the little nest, both of them careful not to upset the chocolate pot. They curled up against the pillows and Henry pulled a book from off the stack atop a silver platter. From their hiding place, the three adults could only just barely see Grace’s beaming smile, but they could easily see the slight blush that swept across Henry’s cheeks. As he opened the book and started reading to her, Belle and Rumpelstiltskin stood up as quietly as possible and, with Belle tugging insistently on Jefferson’s sleeve, all silently made their way to the staircase that lead to the library’s apartment. Though little used, it still kept a few furnishings, a tea kettle, some mugs and a few canisters of tea. Settling down for a wait, the three friends chatted quietly and amiably about everything and nothing, all happily basking in the companionship of friends.


	3. Gilded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "How about a romantic trip in Venice in spring as a gift for Valentine's Day? They can go in February because it's too cold so they decide to go in April, when the temperatures are better and they can enjoy of a wonderful trip. AAAAND a plus: they are invited to a masquerade in a old palace as the icing on the trip. Fluff enough, right?" —chippedlionheart

If this was dreaming, Belle never wanted to awake. Every morning she greeted the dawn with Rumpel’s arms around her and the beautiful city of Venice laid out before them. It was never soon enough to be on their way to explore the city, and just when she thought she knew her way around, something new and exciting surprised her. It was her fondness for books that had led her down the alley, thinking she saw a book store sign. Rumpelstiltskin followed, chuckling at her eager haste, and both were brought up short by the sight of the bookkeeper, an elderly lady standing daintily on a stool in the middle of her small shop, swathed in yards of rich, vibrantly hued fabric. Belle turned to her companion, the question in her eyes before it reached her lips. Rumpel shrugged, as in the dark as she, and Belle walked in, intending to know what the woman was doing.

The next few minutes were a blur. There was an elderly man throwing a masquerade ball, a small affair, but promising to be exciting and lavish. There was a trick to the invitation; several in fact. She held out the gilded card for them to read, conspiracy twinkling in her eyes. Belle found the first trick; the main wording of the invitation was written in iambic pentameter, and the woman laughed, saying that so few people caught that. With his fondness for word play Rumpelstiltskin found the clever palindromes, and the mimicry of a sestina in the description of the evening’s festivities. It was Belle’s knowledge of literature that understood the hint for the theme: Historical Fairytale

The proprietress laughed gaily, hugging the pair as best she could from her perch. “Splendid, simply marvelous!” she declared. “Signore Vincelli will be delighted to have you!” Though hindered by yards of cloth and pins, the woman who called herself Francesca, tried to help them find their way around the store, but the two travelers soon left, speaking lowly to one another of costume ideas and dances.

The days between the invitation and the dance went quickly, filled with shopping for costumes and masks, dining by candle light, finding more hidden treasures. The day finally arrived, and Belle could hardly eat or sit still for excitement. They had found a dress, simply cut in a medieval style. It was cut from a simple, warm, sturdy cloth, dark blue, with embroidered ribbon around the collar, sleeves and hem. When she spun the skirt swelled slightly, rippling against the air and exposing her soft leather boots. The third time she spun herself dizzy Rumpelstiltskin grabbed her by the waist and held her on the couch, nuzzled her neck and pretended to scold her. In his dark red leather jerkin he struck an imposing figure. The leather pants were well made, well fitted and historically accurate. He’d been unsure about being able to pull off the look, but she assured him he looked dashing.

He had a sword at his waist, and his crown was heavier, thicker in make. They had decided against ornate masks to match their clothes, choosing instead simple cloth and paper glue, hers in dark red, his in dark blue, to set them apart as a couple. The old estate hosting the event was quite a ways away, but Belle wanted to walk the streets a little more, enjoy the twilight in the city. They got more than a few odd glances, but wrapped up as they were in their own world, it didn’t matter. After walking for a few minutes Rumpelstiltskin noticed a slight shiver, most likely due to Belle’s exposed neck and not a chill in the air, but he was no longer one to let opportunity pass by.

Belle marveled at his ability to find a secluded alley at the drop of a hat, smiling at him when he spun her around in his arms, coming to a stop with him against a wall and her hugged closely to his chest. She stood on her toes, her lips meeting his smile and she had every intention of wiping it off. His arms tightened around her as he met her, kiss for kiss until she pulled away. “You have witchcraft in your lips, Belle.” he whispered.

“I had the best teacher,” She whispered back. “In this world or any other.”

 


	4. After The War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet moment between Belle and Rumplestiltskin after the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The war is not really mentioned, and the show never really went into it (more's the pity), but this had already been written.

It was the quiet after a storm, the way the town was silent. A recuperation, a rest. A finally being able to enjoy the stillness, the rest, without worrying “what next?” People kept to their homes, only a scant few businesses open, and even then with short hours and limited, eager to leave staff.

The pink Victorian house stood empty, the black Cadillac that normally graced it’s driveway making its way into the woods, the two passengers inside quiet, as though maybe afraid to speak, simply holding hands tightly. Rumpelstiltskin was at the wheel, eyes resolutely on the road, but his mind flying every which way. Beside him sat Belle, his True Love, silent and staring steadfastly out the window. The roaring silence of words unsaid didn’t upset them. It had nearly always been so between them, long enough for both of them to learn patience, and to learn to never take for granted the words that were spoken between them. When the slick, black automobile finally pulled up to a rustic cabin, Belle finally stirred, turning to look at Rumpelstiltskin, shaking their clasped hands when he didn’t notice her gaze. She smiled at him, a soft but confident smile, one meant only for him, to give him the one thing he thought he lacked; courage.

He returned the smile and, letting go of her hand, slid out of the car, walking as quickly as he was able to around to the other door to help her out. Belle didn’t need help, but they were both keen to allow as much contact between them as possible, which meant going arm in arm up the walkway to the cabin. It was little to look at, hardly the intimidating structure of his town house, but then that was its appeal. A simple house, not trying to be anything other than a shelter for those in need. Rumpelstiltskin opened the door and ushered Belle inside. Thought slightly musty with disuse, it was dry with no smell of mold or woodland creature. Belle knelt before the fireplace, stuffing some kindling under dry logs and striking matches to help build the blaze. There was a rocking chair on one side of the fire, and a sturdier armchair on the other, between the two a lush woven rug already absorbing the heat from the fire and the young woman. Wordlessly she turned and beckoned to Rumpelstiltskin to join her. He settled himself in the armchair and reached out to pull her close. She slid along the floor gracelessly, but he adored her artless movements. Belle rested her arms on his knees and he stroked her hair, neither of them wishing to disrupt the peace they’ve sought, fought and wished so ardently for. Their guards are down, an earned privilege they intend to enjoy as long as possible.

Hunger interceded, making its presence known and pulling the two lovers apart, though not unkindly so. Starting the stove, Belle fills a pot with vegetables and broth they’ve brought with them. She delightfully breathes in the rich smell while Rumpelstiltskin rinses out slightly dusty bowls. They share glances that aren’t shy and deliberate touches, half-marveling in the freedom and desire to do so. Waiting for the soup to cook Rumpelstiltskin stands behind Belle and, in a moment of desperate gratitude wraps his arms fervently around her, bowing his head to rest it in her curls. Leaning her head back, Belle reaches up to run her fingers through his hair and holds him closer.

Dinner was eaten in silence before the fire, once shy smiles turning bolder, glancing touches becoming firmer, more solid contact. By the time they’ve finished, Belle had coaxed Rumpelstiltskin onto the floor with her, some folded blankets along with the pillows cushioning the hard floor. He rest his head in her lap and she ran her fingers through his hair, occasionally letting her fingers trail to caress his neck. He stirs into the motion, lowly humming, and turned his head to look up at her. They sat so still, drinking each other in, one might have thought they were statues. The spell was cracked when their eyes started to close, the kind of tired that follows soon after the quest is accomplished, and Belle pulled a few more blankets out of their cedar chest and laid them out, pulling Rumpelstiltskin into her makeshift nest. He curled up beside her, arms protectively around her, determined to guard her even as they slumbered. She returned his embrace, snuggling closer to his chest, the flickering fire warming both of them as the sailed off to the shores of sleep.


	5. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Rumplestiltskin had married Belle? When he returned to the war, what would he have found waiting for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by one of my best friends in the aftermath of the reveal of how Rumple got his limp. I did my best to use all the original words, but to change the tone, mood and therefore the overall context.

Lullabies floated through the cottage as a petite brunette rocked her son. It had been a rough seven months, but she hadn’t wanted Rumpelstiltskin to worry. Belle had heard rumors, but didn’t want to believe them. Rumpelstiltskin was fine. He had to be. She got a sick feeling in her stomach as she thought of the pain he would be in if it was true. But it wasn’t. Shaking her head she returned her thoughts and attention to the little bundle in her arms. “Baelfire, my little man, hush now” she crooned. She could lose herself in caring for him, and wanted to do so, to forget the ugly rumors that had been circulating.

She was trying so hard to forget everything else that she didn’t notice her name being called until someone was yelling it just outside her door. She turned, holding her son close to her chest, just in time to see her husband stumble through the door. Confusion killed any greeting she could have offered when she saw the staff in his hand and limp he walked with. Horror dawning, she gasped. The rumors were true. “Rumpel!”

He stopped, holding a shaking hand out to point to the pair “Wh-what’s his name?” he asked, his voice shaking and weak.

Belle smiled as she told her husband “Baelfire.”

He seemed to approve, to be excited “A strong name!” he exclaimed, waving his arm empathetically. Rumpelstiltskin walked a few paces before sinking to the ground. Belle hurried forward, kneeling next to the defeated man before her.

She helped him into a chair, trying to meet his eyes, afraid to ask, but the need to know all but choking her. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” he held his leg awkwardly, and she finally saw the crude splint around his ankle. He could barely stand on it, and Belle couldn’t fathom how he’d made it from the front. She could recognize the pain in his voice; breathy, gasping, lacing every word.

“Did you injure yourself” she slowed her words, hating to ask but feeling she already knew the answer. “So that you wouldn’t have to fight? So that you would be sent home?”

His head jerked up, pain and fear in his eyes “Who told you that?”

She felt as though someone had punched the air from her lungs. She’d been telling herself it couldn’t be true, that her Rumpelstiltskin would be coming home whole, returning safe. She held no delusions, she knew that he was going to the worst of the fighting, but she’d been holding on to hope for so long that she didn’t know how to handle it being ripped from her. “Everyone,” she tried to keep her horror from her voice. “Rumors travel quickly from the front.”

Rumpelstiltskin held his leg, bowed over as though he was trying to hide himself, as though trying to make himself disappear. A little anger blossomed in her chest, threatening to force its way up her throat. She tried to contain it, but it honed her next words sharper than she’d meant “Rumpel, did you do this to yourself?” she barely restrained her shouting. He bowed down again, avoiding her eyes and she knew. This time she did yell at him “Why would you do this to yourself?”

“Yes!” her husband yelled back, coiled against the chair like a cornered snake. Belle let out a breath she’d been holding for too long, weight disappearing from her stomach. He’d done it to himself; he’d wanted to run away. Belle tried to hold back tears as Baelfire started to cry. Absentmindedly she started to rock her son. “A Seer told me I was going to die in the battle”

The void left by fleeting hope was filled with horror and confusion. She could only just keep the tears from falling. “You did this because a Seer told you to do it?” she spoke softly, half of her regretting the anger she spoke with earlier.

Rumpelstiltskin grew more frantic, but he didn’t yell again. “She was right about everything else” she could hear the despair under the pain lacing his words. “I left the front to be with you” he gasped, reaching out again “You and…Baelfire”

“You left because you were afraid.” She sat down hard on the cot she’d once shared with her husband. She turned over the rumors and her husband’s own words in her head. “Everything else? What else did the Seer say?”

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head and remained silent for a few minutes. When he raised his head again he had eyes only for the babe in her arms. “She spoke of you,” he said, “of you and…and our son.” Belle held Baelfire closer as though she could protect her son from the Sight of the Seer. She kissed his forehead and closed her eyes, wishing without hope.

“Is that all?” her husband’s gaze shifted from her own, and she could feel his hesitation like static in the air. “Rumple, tell me. Did she say anything else?” she pleaded.  She distrusted Magic and the unnatural, but she knew that living in the world they did, it wasn’t something she could hide from.

“She told me of my past, and toyed with words to tell me the future, to prove that she was telling the truth.” He laughed bitterly and finally met her gaze. Belle’s heart ached for the fear she saw in his eyes. “She told me we would ride into battle on cows.” His laugh grew shriller with the beginnings of hysteria. “Cows are what they call saddles, because of the leather.”

Belle reached out to her broken husband, pulling him awkwardly to sit next to her. She heard him hiss in pain when he jostled his ankle. When he was next to her she wrapped one arm around him and eased their son into his arms. She pressed a kiss to his temple as she heard him whimper. “I’ll be right back.” She said as she picked up a bucket. Rumpelstiltskin was injured, badly, and she had the suspicion that he’d received poor care. He called out to her before she reached the door, and she turned to face him.

“What else could I have done?” Everything about him screamed begging for forgiveness.

“You could have stayed and fought. You could have died.” A few tears fell down her face, but she kept her composure. She couldn’t collapse into tears even if she wished; she had to be strong for her husband, so close to breaking as he was. At her words he bowed his head again, shoulders shaking as tears spilled down his face. “But you couldn’t leave us.”

Jerking his head up, Rumpelstiltskin searched her face, desperately seeking absolution. “I couldn’t abandon you and out son.” His voice rasped because of his tears, his fear and broken spirit. “I couldn’t leave him without a father.”

Running the few paces to his side, Belle fell to her knees before him. “I know, Rumpel, I know.” Placing her hands on either side of his face, she drew closer to him and tilted his face. Hesitantly she met his lips, slowly brushing against them until he kissed back. Slowly at first, he soon lost himself in seeking every assurance of her affection in the face of his cowardice. Indulging him for a moment, Belle hated breaking away, but she worried about his leg. She kissed him quickly before dropping a kiss on her sons brow and running out the door.

She went to the healer’s hovel to ask for anything that could help heal her husband, begging and promising to repay the charity. On her return she did her best to reset the shoddy splint, choking back tears as her husband tried to keep his screams of pain from escaping. Once her work was done and she’d propped his leg up to ease the throbbing she lay beside him, trying not to rock their bed. She turned to curl against him, gently drawing her legs closer to his uninjured one. She reached one arm up to stroke his hair, trying her best to be soothing as they drifted off to sleep. Between them nestled their son, wrapped in the arms of his parents and surrounded by a steady, constant love.


	6. All in the Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie Theater AU(?) with Gold as the proprietor and Belle as an employee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just liked this and wanted it out there.

The patron had knocked over the small rubbish bin by the hall leading to the theaters, which wouldn’t have been such an issue if it hadn’t been full of ticket stubs. Kneeling to scrape them up by hand, Belle March held back an irritated frown. The bin was next to the wall, but nothing was foolproof, apparently. Clutching the crumpled bits of paper she tried to let them fall carefully in the trash, succeeding for the most part. “Better hurry little Belle” she heard from her left side.

Looking over her shoulder, Belle saw her friend and coworker, Jefferson, standing behind her. Even with the mandatory uniform, he still gave his outfit the flair of extreme that was signature Jefferson. His vest was cinched just a little more snug than necessary and his tie was knotted in an ostentatious way. Even when she tried, Belle never managed to look that good in her uniform. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a booth somewhere?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.

He carelessly waved off her question “The thing practically runs itself. It’ll be fine while I go bother my favorite co-worker,” he turned to see the new-hire, Emma Swan walking out of an empty theater. “Speaking of which… I’ll see you later, Belle” he called as he walked away.

“I’m sure Emma loves the way you bother her,” Belle grumbled quietly as she hastened to finish cleaning. The carpet seemed to be reluctant to part with the tickets, adding to the frustration she was feeling. She didn’t notice the quiet, uneven tread coming up behind her until she stood, tugging at her trousers to straighten them out. Turning around she gasped in surprise. “Mr. Gold! Sorry I didn’t hear you. There was a bit of a mess, I was just finishing cleaning.”

“It’s alright Miss March,” he said, a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “I was just coming to see you.”

Reaching her hand up to brush her hair behind her ear, Belle asked “Is everything alright?” Mr. Gold oversaw things in the morning and she usually worked nights after classes got out. They only had an hour or two to work together, and he rarely sought her out.

“Everything is fine, Miss March. It’s about the Marathon we’re planning this weekend,” he braced both hands on his cane and leaned in conspiratorially. “The last of the reels have come in and it seems that our projector boys are otherwise occupied.”

By his tone, Belle wondered if he knew where Jefferson went off to, but thought if he did; Jefferson would stop, or would be out of a job. Either way, she wasn’t going to sell him out. “What can I do, sir?”

His mouth tightened in what was almost a grimace, but he turned before she could decide and beckoned him to follow her. “The boxes are a little cumbersome,” he said as he walked forward “I just need some help carrying them to the office.

“How many of the films did you manage to track down, Mr. Gold?” Belle asked, trying to make conversation. The boxes had been left at the ticket office outside door, and she wasn’t sure if it was the post or a personal currier service.

“Quite a few Miss March, I was pleasantly surprised. Now,” he said with a turn on his heel “If you’ll bring them to my office, we can see if I got what I paid for.”


	7. Evening Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mayor Belle loves the quiet unwinding after stressful days with her guard up. Her husband loves to brush her hair

When he’d returned, Rumpelstiltskin had been unsurprised by how Belle had straightened out the town. Where Regina had people under her thumb, Belle took them under her wing; where Regina manipulated, Belle cajoled at worst, and requested at best. She didn’t waste time wandering looking for clues, and she didn’t beat around the bush when it came to investigating problems. People got used to her frank manner, and appreciated that she was seen working around town instead of keeping  herself locked away in her office. Though things were still rocky in town, Belle didn’t back down from a challenge. That was his Belle, a fighter through and through.

A fighter who was more often late home than not. When she finally walked through the door he had nearly given up on meeting her when she came in, tempted at the knowledge that if he warmed the sheets of their bed, she’d be able to sleep in his arms that much sooner.

She dressed with a subtle flair that was her own, her days as Lacey giving her a penchant for shimmery hints in her wardrobe. Today it was the barrettes in her hair, holding back the curls that he loved and longed to run his fingers through. Dressing the part, to Belle, was nearly as important as being able to act it. She had confided in him once, not too long after his return, that she feared if she let herself be seen as vulnerable, let down her guard even a little, she wouldn’t be taken seriously. The hushed confession and her new empathy for his own masks were treasured knowledge. As soon as she walked through the door and saw they were alone, her walls crumbled down. On nights like tonight, when she’d been called out, walked around town, pestered and patronized, she would hesitate at the door, seeking him out before breathing a sigh of relief.

Seeing that exhale and watching the tension slipping off her shoulders made the wait worthwhile. He rose out of his chair and reached out for her, pulling her close as soon as his fingers had a hold on cloth. Her body fit so snugly against his, her soft curves aligning with his firm angles like two puzzle pieces. Drawing in the scent of her hair as though it was vital to living, Rumpelstiltskin clutched her close, reveling quietly in the freedom he had to do so. Within these walls no one could touch them; his magic and reputation kept most visitors at bay, and the few who ventured rarely made it through the door. Her arms around him, more than the walls that held up his roof, were his home. Rubbing a hand up and down the expanse of her back, he pulled away, just enough to be able to look into her eyes.

Wordlessly she smiled at him, love, promises and invitation in her eyes. She leaned forward and pressed her lips softly against his, the golden intimacy of touch a blessing they both thanked their stars for every day. Nearby the grandfather clock kept in polished precision struck eleven, causing Belle to smile ruefully as she allowed herself to be led upstairs. Hand in hand they navigated the sleek staircase and the carpeted hall before reaching their bedroom. Little fuss was made about preparations, routine taking over in their readiness for the promise of rest and relaxation from the large ornate bed against the wall. Slipping out of her clothes and into her nightdress, Belle claimed the sink in the bathroom to wash away the mayoral mask she wore for the town, returning to their room with a silver hairbrush in hand. Rumpelstiltskin turned to face her, stilling as he watched her approach. Not in fear or disbelief, not anymore; in reverence and wonder. He had been deprived of too much, and forsworn more to take this newfound peace for granted.

She was dressed simply for bed, her nightgown a thing of simple cotton that hid the obvious but loaned enough to the imagination to be reserved only to the home. Only for him; he still felt breathless at the thought that she, willing as the day she returned with a basket of straw, wanted to be with him. She was more than a gift; she was a benediction, a balm to his once tortured soul. When she was a pace away he reached for her, drawing her close again and reveling in the warmth of her as she returned the embrace. With no elegance or finesse—such facades were left at the door—he pulled her onto the bed, the two of them laughing as they tumbled onto the mattress. Belle rose first, awkwardly so, her hands on either side of his shoulders, her right hip pressed against his, legs dangling down nearly to the floor. Leaning down, she brushed her lips against his, welcoming slow heat building between them when he kissed her back.

Pushing up on his elbows first and then sliding backwards towards the middle of the bed, Rumpelstiltskin wrapped an arm around Belle. Sliding his hand up her back and down along her arms, he discovered the silver hairbrush she kept in her hand. “Ah…” he said, breaking the kiss. “Up, love.”

He slipped the brush from her hand and sat up, shifting back until he was against the headboard and spread his legs apart for Belle to snuggle between. She sat straight up and he grinned as he saw the sigh of relief she gave as he unpinned her hair. The barrettes came out easily, but the bobby pins were more discreetly hidden.  Once he removed every one he set to his task. The odd kinks in her curls from being tied up all day smoothed out into waves under the repetitious brush and she let her head loll back. He chuckled, happy for the quiet intimacy of their nighttime rituals. Fingers mingled with the boar bristled brush, sliding against her scalp as he tried to rub the tension away. Belle’s shoulders slouched and her spine loosened its rigid posture as his fingers carded through her thick hair. These were the moments she recalled to get her through the day; soon enough she would walk through the door and be in his arms and everything else could wait until tomorrow.

When his arm began to grow tired he set the brush aside and wrapped his arms around her, leaning close to rest his chin on her shoulder. She leaned back and hummed her appreciation before turning to face him. He looks over her face, glad to see all signs of stress have fled, her brown curls framing her face becomingly as she tries to stay awake. Half in and half out of his arms she faces him, her chest pressed against his as she leans in and wraps her arms around him. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder and he buried his face in the downy waves, breathing a deep sigh of contentment. As her breathing began to deepen, he gently nudged her awake and pulled her over, trying to tug the covers down and tuck her in. It took a few long moments, Belle only half able to cooperate through her sleepy daze. She curled up into him, her breath warming his collarbone and murmuring “I love you” as she drifted off. Sleepily she lifted on hand to his shoulder, curling her fingers into his soft hair.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied, gently kissing along her cheeks and forehead. Lying awake, Rumpelstiltskin kept his fingers running through her tresses, the warm silk more soothing than any balm in Gilead to him. When he finally drifted off it was with her hair clutched in his fingers and her body cradled against his.


	8. The Trouble with Pickles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle can't get a pickle jar open

The struggle was rather ridiculous. Only a few months ago she’d sealed the jars, happily awaiting the day she could enjoy the preserves. It seemed that she would be barred from partaking of what promised to be a delightful batch of pickled cucumbers. The lid absolutely refused to budge even a little. Belle frowned and did her best to refrain from smashing the jar, knowing that her husband would be very unhappy with her, should he journey downstairs to find brine and shattered glass everywhere.

Setting the jar on the table, she pulled over a stool and glared at the offending object. It only took a few moments, but apparently the silence in the kitchen was enough to alert him to turmoil in his domain and he made his way slowly to her side. He picked up the jar and considered it. “Trouble, sweetheart?”

“I can’t open the jar,” She barely glanced at him, focusing her intense gaze on the jar. “I want the pickles, but I can’t get to them.”

Chuckling to himself, Rumpelstiltskin carried the jar over to the sink and ran the lid under warm water before tapping the metal cap against the sink. After a few taps he gripped the band of metal and twisted slowly, exhaling as the lid finally gave under pressure. He turned to face Belle and extended the jar with a small bow, reminiscent of the gifted rose he’d given so long ago. She received it with a similar curtsey, but instead of turning away, she stepped forward and thanked her husband with a kiss. One hand held the jar while the other ran her fingers through his hair. Rumpelstiltskin ran his hands down her arms and carefully took the jar from her, placing it on the side of the sink so he could wrap his arms around his little, beloved Belle.


	9. Rockabilly Rumbelle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strongly influenced by Crybaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No regrets writing this

He’d never seen her up at Rabbit Hole, so she was either new in town, or a square. Judging by the pastel cardigan and ascot alone, she was a square. The saddle shoes, bobby socks and circle skirt completed the picture-perfect out-of-place look. Rabbit Hole wasn’t a place most squares went to, unless they were playing rebel while their parents were playing posh at a cocktail party or something. Johnny Gold watched her as she walked up to Ruby, was more than a little shocked when the two embraced, the leggy brunette towering over the petite, curvy blonde. The blonde hopped up onto a stool, her legs dangling awkwardly until she hooked her heels on one of the cross bars and she leaned forward to gossip with Ruby, who abandoned any pretence of working to devote her full attention to her friend. He was wiping down tables, but had already cleaned off the ones nearby, so even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t get closer to hear what they were saying.

Most of the girls who came to Rabbit Hole looked more like Ruby, carrying their attitude with them like a battle flag. Bright red lipstick and cat-eyes were their war paint. They smoked and cussed right next to the boys, egged them on in their stupid games of chicken or drinking. Low necklines or strategically unbuttoned blouses to draw in the guys, or shorts and bikinis when it was warm enough. Over the years of working at the Rabbit Hole, he’d seen too many of those types to count.

“Hey, Gold!” Ruby’s loud voice ripped him from his reverie. “Can you watch the counter? I’ll be right back!” she turned without waiting for an answer, leaving her friend alone.

Tucking the rag into his back pocket, Johnny walked to the counter. It wasn’t like they were busy, but just in case. He got a good glance at her profile as he strode behind the counter, and then she turned to face him. She looked soft, where most of the girls he knew had hard edges to them. Dark lashes framed vivid blue eyes and he wondered how someone who looked like her could end up in a place like Rabbit Hole. Her hair looked from the bottle, and so he asked “Are you really a blonde?”

“Are you really a Scot?” she came back, the grin she shot him softening the question to playful instead of sarcastic.

“Born and raised,” he said, nodding his head towards her and looking expectant.

Shaking her curls off her shoulders she grinned proudly “All natural,” she laughed, an infectious snigger that had him joining in. With her shoulders shrugging back, he noticed dark marks hidden under her blouse along her shoulders. When she leaned forward again, they disappeared. He couldn’t tell if he’d only imagined it, but they looked almost like bruises. A small flicker of anger ignited in his gut, one he couldn’t quite bring himself to stamp out. She saved him from his reverie by reaching a small, pale hand to him.  “I’m Bella-Jean, I’m here to audition.”

Hearing that, Johnnyny choked a bit, but he was saved from embarrassment by Ruby breezing into the room. She had dresses hanging off her arm and held them out for Bella-Jean’s scrutiny. He quickly left the counter, but didn’t leave the dining area, wanting to see what was going to happen. Auditioning? The house band consisted of Jefferson and Victor, with Ruby sometime singing back up. They’d mentioned getting another player, but what could a square bring to the band? Behind him Ruby was directing her friend to try on one of the dresses, and when he glanced behind himself to see them walk away, he only saw Ruby looking towards the ground behind the counter. A square playing a rebel, then; could be interesting, if she could actually play.

Ruby squealed, which Johnny took to mean Belle had dressed and Ruby approved. He turned over what Ruby’s approval meant for Bella-Jean’s modesty, but before he could let his imagination run away with him, the brunette waitress called him over. Turning, his mind came to a halt even as his feet propelled him forward. What the cardigan had covered in modesty, the off the shoulder peasant top dress displayed to full advantage. The dark smudges he’d thought were bruises were roses and scrollwork, standing out vividly against the creamy skin of her shoulders and chest. His eyes traced falling stars and filigree down her left arm before he realized he was gawking like a middle-schooler and Ruby was waiting for him to answer her. He had no idea what she was asking, but was saved from asking her to repeat herself when she took the initiative to. “Come one, Gold. How’s it look?”

The dress, he needed to give an opinion about the dress, and he hadn’t even noticed it other than what it showed.  “Well,” he said, trying to buy some time “It’s alright enough. For a square.” It was perfect for a square like her, if she even was. Hell, he couldn’t really think with the curve of her shoulder begging for touch, or the flare of her hip beckoning a firm hold while on the dance floor. He wasn’t sure if she was blushing, or if the bright red fabric was bringing it out, but it gave the delicate, pale complexion a rosy glow.

Bella-Jean’s eyebrows arched in annoyance, and she grabbed the rest of the dresses from her friend. “If you need me Ruby, I’ll be in your cabin.” She didn’t look at him, didn’t speak to him, just sauntered out the door and headed off down the dusty path.

“Nice going, Gold,” Ruby scoffed. She turned and gave him a glare of disbelief. “If she’s good enough to make it, you should probably keep in mind that Bella doesn’t like lables.”

Johnny scowled back and stalked away through the kitchens. He should never have let the guys talk him into agreeing to auditions. He shouldn’t have gawked. He shouldn’t have stared dumbly as Bella-Jean walked away and he definitely shouldn’t be fixating on her. It was going to be a hell of a night. He slipped a cigarette from the hidden stash in the kitchen and stormed through the door into the afternoon sunlight. He needed to clear his head, before anything else threw him off. It was going to be a hell of a night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend prompted "How about Belle finds a catalogue of all Rumple’s books (either in Storybrooke or FTL) and teases him because she can’t read his handwriting."

Every evening, as soon as the dinner dishes were washed and put away Belle could be found by the fireplace, hunched around an open book in her lap. If he deigned to join her, he would take his place at his wheel. Tonight he imagined he heard muffled sighs coming from her chair. The fifth time he heard it he realized it wasn’t a sigh, it was a soft giggle. He turned to watch his housekeeper, noticing first that her shoulders were slightly shaking, and second, that unless she habitually read books sideways, she was pouring over the margins of a book from his library. It dawned on him that she was reading notes, notes he’d written in the margin. She’d kept to stories and histories for the most part, books he had, but had no need for. He turned and walked towards her, stopping at her side to look over her shoulder. It was a history book, one he’d forgotten he’d read. She’d only made it through a few pages, he could see, apparently trying to read his notes.

“You’ll hurt your eyes if you strain them too long,” he said, briefly satisfied by her startled jump. “What are you doing?”

Her hands tried to cover the pages, but she held his gaze steadily when she responded. “I’m reading a critique of the history of the kingdoms, or trying to.” When he held out his hand for the book, she tightened her grip on the pages. “How ever do you manage to remember all these things? If you have a diary, I can hardly see it being of any use. How can you read this?”

Rumpelstiltskin reached down to pry her hands off the tome before sneering “Having a diary would mean one wanted to remember the past.”

He dodged her waving arms as she attempted to get the book back, but without any success. “I was reading that.”

“No, you were trying” he retorted, rolling his ‘r’ with exaggeration. He made to turn away before she called out for him to wait. “Yes, dearie?”

“Well, since trying isn’t good enough, perhaps you’d be so kind as to read to me?” her arched eyebrows broadcast the sarcasm she was downplaying.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say he was anything but kind, but when he opened his mouth to speak, it was a simple “As you wish.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life-to-fic prompts: What is your favorite candle scent?  
> Domestic Rumbelle

The shop clamored with scents, each one either demanding attention or taking it any way. Belle perused the small tables stacked with soaps, lotions and fat little candles, an unhappy fiancée trailing behind her. She’d lost track of how many candles she’d smelled; this was getting tedious. “Do we really need to get something here? I’m just fine with the way our house smells”

The barest hint of a smile teased the corner of his lips when she said “our house” and he nodded. “It’s your house now. You should put on your own touches around…” he trailed off when she held a candle out to him. “What is that?”

Belle frowned as she read the name “Appleberry Danceable Fizz” she couldn’t withhold a laugh, drawing the attention of a few of the shop’s patrons. “Or we could get… Warm Havana Sunrise?”

Belle went through a few more ridiculously named candles before Rumpelstiltskin pulled her away, ignoring her laughter. “Alright, alright!” his laughter and bemused irritation thickening his brogue “we won’t get any candles!”

Belle teased him most of the way home, asking him about other feminine touches he wanted her to put around the house. In their light mood the teasing escalated to innuendo, until Belle smacked his arm in retaliation.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life to Fic Questions: have you ever gone on a date?  
> High School Rumbelle

Belle was looking up into the distance, her hands out before her while she counted on her fingers. “’Actual date’ date?”

What in the world did that even mean? “Yeah, ‘actual date’ date” Ezra Gold said, trying to restrain his impatience.

She seemed to wrap up her counting, but then asked. “That he asked, or that I asked?”

The question threw him for a loop. Belle had to ask guys out? What was wrong with guys at this school? “Both?”

Belle nodded, and looked at him “I think I’ve been out on eight ish real dates? Maybe a few more that have slipped my mind”

“How can a date slip your mind?” How bad did a date have to be to slip her mind? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. He didn’t know what would happen if Belle forgot him.

“It wasn’t impressionable.” Belle’s tone of voice cut any further inquiries short. “The ones I do remember aren’t that great either. I don’t think dating is really for me.”

Ezra thought he could hear some kind of bitterness in her laugh. Maybe one day he could show her she was wrong.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life to Fic Questions: How many books have you read in a single sitting?  
> Domestic Rumbelle

The summer sun shone down through the wisteria on the ratty sun chair where Belle lay in a swimsuit and lavalava. On her right she had a small stack of books, atop of which was sitting a bowl of Skittles. As she turned the pages she was taken back to the factories of Lowell, Massachusetts. She was captivated by the vivid imagery Mary Driscoll provided and her heart ached for the mill girls and their dreary, dreadful experiences. It took her a few moments to notice someone was standing in her light. She looked up, blocking the sun with her hand, recognizing the imposing stance of her husband. “Yes, Rumpel?”  she asked with a grin.

“Just how many books have you read sweetheart?”

Belle looked at the pile to her left, counting the books piled there “Five.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded slowly “And how many more do you plan on reading?”

“As many as I can.” She turned back to her book, pretending to ignore him until he pushed her over and slid next to her, one arm wrapped around her waist, helping her with keeping the book close enough to her face to read. “Would you like to join me?”

“Of course” He said as he rested his chin on her shoulder. When the sun moved behind the house, the pair gathered up books and bowls and moved inside the Queen Anne to continue their reading.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life to Fic Questions: Have you ever marathoned a TV show?  
> Domestic Rumbelle

Belle was crying, and he didn’t know why or how in the world he could possibly stop it. He stood frozen in the doorway as he watched tears stream down her face. Her eyes, full of despair, were riveted to the computer screen, the only thing still about her. These weren’t just sad tears; these were devastated tears. Finally, some sense of panic jarred him into motion “Belle, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

It took her a moment to shake herself out of the world she was lost in, reaching out to click something with the mouse. She turned to face him, her sorrow so overwhelming that he stumbled in his haste to get to her side. When his arms enclosed her, he felt her relax into his touch, but the crying still didn’t stop. “You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong, love. You’re breaking my heart.”

After a few more minutes the sobs died down to sniffles “She stayed with her, so she wouldn’t die alone. They were supposed to go together, but she died first!” As Rumpelstiltskin tried to make heads and tails of his true loves breaking heart he looked over to the computer screen, noticing the paused screen, the fire exploding out of shop windows. The title of the video simply read “Supernatural” followed by some numbers he didn’t understand. He’d remembered Belle mentioning something of this sort that Ruby had introduced her to. Two brothers hunting the things that went bump in the night, the friends they met along the way. Through the half stories she’d told him, there were only two women who had reoccurred enough to merit a reaction this hard. “Oh, my Belle.” He murmured, trying to say soothing nonsense to help calm her down.

Over the next hour he was able to calm her down enough to hear what had happened to the Hunting mother/daughter duo, his own heart hurting for the choices each woman had made. When Belle finally could speak without choking up, he reached over to click the ‘play’ button, staying by her side for the last few minutes, one arm around her shoulders as he offered silent support and comfort to the woman who held his heart in her compassionate hands.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life to Fic Questions: What is your favorite piece of clothing?  
> Storybrooke Rumbelle

Ruby wasn’t exactly happy about Belle’s choice for the evening out, but she’d promised that Belle could have her pick of places to go for the evening. Ruby would rather hang out at the small club in town, but that had never quite been Belle’s scene. Tonight she wanted to dance. Properly dance, with steps and turns and a rhythm one could move with, not just gyrate to. She’d invited the other girls, agreeing to meet up at her apartment to help with finishing touches of their outfits. A few discarded skirts and blouses lay strewn about her room while she stood in the middle of it all, holding her latest choice to her chest as she looked in the mirror. The brochure mentioned Latin dancing, and Belle wanted something that would dance around her legs as she spun and danced on the floor. She was torn between two dresses, cut to the same style, but with different prints. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at her door. Hastily, she pulled on an oversized blood driveshirt and silver lacrosse shorts before making her way to the door. “Rum!” her relief was palpable. “I didn’t think you’d want to join us tonight!” She craned her neck to check the time “You’re a whole half hour early. Come in, come in! I’m still deciding what to wear.”

She turned and fluttered back to her room, her excitement making her motions loose and carefree. She picked up the two dresses and held them up for his examination. Loose, puffy sleeves would cap over her shoulders, an elastic torso would hug her ribs and accentuate her waist. From there the skirt flared out, heavy with the quantity its own fabric. “I can’t decide which to wear. I know it’s silly to hope that I’ll look the part, but I love dancing in skirts that twirl out when you spin.”

Belle didn’t see the pained disappointment that passed across Mr. Gold’s face, too busy with critiquing each dress. “The white is very nice” he said “Bright flowers, it suits you.”

“It’s not my usual fashion choice, I know. But I couldn’t help it. It was something new.” She held up the dress and looked at herself in the mirror, tilting her head to one side and then the other in contemplation. A long moment of silence passed by, and then she turned to face him. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Would you like to sit down?” the dresses were tossed as she quickly walked back to the main room where she’d left her guest.

“It’s quite alright.” He responded “Actually, I-“

Any response he could have made was cut off by the arrival of Red, bursting ostentatiously through the door. She had a large tote slung over one arm, and several articles of clothing draped over the other. Behind her trailed Jiminy, looking out of sorts and out of place as he stepped in. The two girls immediately hid themselves away in the room, half attempting apologies for abandoning the men to their own devices. Not too long after Red arrived, Snow and David arrived as well, with Emma and Jefferson close behind. Emma rolled her eyes when she was beckoned into the room, but Jefferson only smiled at her as she walked away.

After many giggles and occasional shrieks of good humor, the girls came out, one by one. Emma had flat out refused to wear a skirt, instead wearing a slightly worn pair of skinny jeans and a loose tunic patterned with paisleys in red, white and blue. Snow White surprised Rumpelstiltskin by coming out in the white dress with flowers splashed all over it and demure black flats. Red had attempted and pulled off very successfully an edgier look with a red sari skirt ingeniously wrapped as a short dress, the ties going over her shoulders and around her ribs, exposing quite a lot of her shapely legs, their length added to by black leather pumps. When Belle came out, Rumpelstiltskin felt as though he had the wind knocked from him; she’d gone with the black dress with the oversized rose pattern. Though not extremely fair, she was lightskinned enough to look striking in the black dress, and he noticed her legs were bare, her feet in her smooth red faux leather flats. They talked for a few minutes, catching up on the latest events in each other’s lives, but Rumpelstiltskin hardly paid attention to them. His eyes were only for Belle. As they left she grabbed a finely woven scarf with paisley in purple, gold and cerulean. “I know it doesn’t match, but it’s such a nice night. What if we want to walk home?” she said to him, leaning in a little closer than she may have normally.

Rumpelstiltskin pressed his hand against the small of her back, guiding her forward after their friends. He had no idea what the evening entailed, but with Bell by his side, he was sure it would be worth it.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life to Fic Questions: What is your favorite childhood memory?

Bae sat against the desk, trying not to show his irritation. His Language Arts teacher had called a parent/teacher conference to scold him and complain about his lack of interest in the class. He loved reading, as an escape, to learn, to find understanding.  He wasn’t all together sure where his teacher had found the authority to tell him there was no job he could take that paid him to read, but she knew what she was about. Didn’t she?

Behind him Belle bristled in anger. He could feel it, ready to spill over. “Well, I have two children, so I know what children are like." Even though he was too young to understand the implications of being a grown up,  he couldn’t belief that reading for a profession wouldn’t be a good idea.

““Well, I have two children, so I know what children are like.” His teacher said. Even at 11 he was an intelligent child. He almost winced inside, feeling bad for her. He’d hear about this later.

And he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this happened to me in sixth grade. I'm one of seven, and holy cow that flippant attitude from my teacher ticked my mom OFF. She still brings it up when she talks about dumb things teachers have said to her, or to us kids.


	17. The Soupening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This little drabblet should be read under the assumption that being a bowl of soup is not an insult or an endearment, but a description yet to be defined.

He hated it when she was sick, but there was a childlike unguardedness to her when she was. Like today. She’d been going on about books being like blankets on Sunday morning, and then launched into a debate about whether or not crows were the souls of pens and quills that had seen their use and been discarded. Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. She let her imaginative mind wander when she wasn’t burdened by the real world, but in a way he enjoyed the things she said. It let him know that somewhere in her mind she could make sense of the insensible. 

He opened the door leading into their room, unsurprised to see her out of bed. She sat on the floor next to the window, in only her pajamas. She turned her head slowly to look at him, her eyes not quite staring through him, but not seeing him either. He walked towards her, one hand balancing a small, but deep bowl.

“I brought you something to eat, darling,” he said as her eyes focused on him, signaling that she was more fully residing this space and time.

“You’re a bowl of soup, did you know that?” She stated quite plainly as she reached for the bowl and spoon he offered.

He might never understand her in these states, but no one ever said one had to understand to love.


End file.
